But now it had become an order. A challenge, a test. The Warden held out her hand, watching me, waiting.
Maybe there was a drop of pity or kindness left in me, no matter how hard I’d worked to rid myself of such things, especially over the last few blood-soaked weeks.
“There are other ways to find information about the Barrens,” I suggested, trying for reason. “We can dispatch a scouting squadron, send Posey with them. They can act as her prisoners if they need to.”
“We don’t have soldiers to spare for yet another dangerous scouting mission,” the Warden said. “And I’m tired of playing games with this creature. Bring me the Box.”
“It will take you many weeks to brew another batch.” I was getting desperate. “What if a dire situation arises tomorrow and we need what we have left?”
“Then we’ll brew more.”
“Madam, we don’t have the resources—”
“We’ll find the resources!”
“It will kill her,” I said sharply. My skin was hot with anger, with fear. I should not have come here without Freyda.
“It won’t, and you know it. Did you hear that, Nerys?” The Warden crouched, hands on her knees. “This vile substance I’m about to feed you will make you think you’re dying, but it lies. You’ll think you’re finally passing into the Great Dominion, where the gods were born, where you can finally find peace—but then you’ll find yourself right back here before me, with noxious fire burning you from the inside out and the memories of everyone you’ve ever killed screaming in your head. And you’ve killed a lot of people, haven’t you? Do you wonder what they felt in their last moments, as your talons tore into them? As your venom choked their lungs? Soon you will no longer have to wonder.”
With every sentence, the Warden pressed closer to Nerys. Her voice climbed in both volume and pitch and began to fracture. To my horror, I thought I heard a wave of tears amid all her fury. The sound shocked me into moving toward her—to comfort her, to lead her away from this death-drenched room. She needed a drink of water; she needed rest.
But as soon as I got close enough, she grabbed my forearm, yanked me toward her, and twisted me around to face Nerys. I tried to squirm away, but the Warden’s grip was strong and cold as ice.
“Look at her,” she commanded. “Look her in the eye and tell her to answer my questions.”
My shock left me speechless. Long weeks ago, I’d been here in this very room with Farrin and Gemma, manipulating them into using our collective influence to pry more information out of Nerys. Because we had Kerezen’s blood in our veins—the blood of the goddess who had created sirens, incubi, succubi; the goddess of seduction and beauty—our mere presence had made Nerys talk.
I didn’t see how it was possible for the Warden to know about this. Had someone—my family, Gareth, my sisters’ lovers—betrayed our secret? My thoughts immediately flew to Wardwell, where Mother had hidden herself away.
“Tellher, Mara,” the Warden said, watching me carefully.
“I don’t see how me asking her questions will make any difference,” I managed to say.
“You’re lying. You’ve been keeping something from me.”
It took all my strength to meet her dark gaze with a look of what I hoped was genuine confusion. “I don’t lie to you, Madam.”
“You do when it serves your interests and that of your sisters,” she replied, then pushed on before I could speak. “Do you think I’m oblivious to the rumors of what happened in Mhorghast? Most of the stories I’ve heard are useless gossip, but some give me pause. And I canread between the lines of the report you gave me. You shouldn’t have gotten out of such a place alive, much less unscathed. You’ve fought Kilraith twice now, and though he still lives, he hasn’t managed to kill you. Why?”
“We’ve been lucky,” I said quietly.
“Yes, the wicked sort of luck that blesses fools and liars.” Suddenly the Warden’s expression softened. She didn’t release me, but with her free hand she cupped my cheek. I leaned into her cool touch before I could stop myself, my heart fluttering madly. Not even I, favored Mara, was immune to the allure of the Warden’s affection. Her touch was rare, a precious gift.
“It saddens me that you don’t trust me with the secrets you carry,” the Warden murmured. “You know that I think of you as my own daughter, don’t you? All of you are my daughters, but you especially.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. The weight of her attention was unbearable, the kind of pain that bordered on bliss.
“I trust you,” I whispered. “I am yours, Madam. I serve you with all my heart.”
She watched me for a moment longer, holding my face gently in her hand. Then something dark crossed her face, a gutting flicker of sadness. She shoved me away and stood, glaring down at Nerys.
“Someday you’ll stop lying to me, Mara,” she said quietly. “Until then, know that every day you persist in deceiving me is like a knife to my heart.”
Then she retrieved a sword from the shadows and with one swift stroke severed Nerys’s head from her body.
“There,” she said, her voice flat and dull. “A gift for you, Mara. Her long suffering has ended. Am I not merciful?”
Her disappointment in me was physical, a blow that stunned tears from my eyes. In a moment, I would tell her everything, if only to banish that look from her face. The words danced on my tongue.
